


Follow Her Nightmare

by melwil



Series: Tear Stains Universe [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melwil/pseuds/melwil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are questions to be answered and answers to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mutual Understandings

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by the Mary Russell books by Laurie R King  
> Originally published in 2004

_Dear Ron,_

There. It was started. Hermione rested her quill against the ink pot and contemplated the precise letters drying on the page before her. She still didn't want to write the letter, but there was a start now, a beginning. Except . . .

Maybe 'dear' was too strong, too familiar. Maybe she needed a more distant beginning – 'To Ron', or just - 'Ron'. Or maybe a more formal tone: 'Dear Mr Weasley . . .'

"Pull yourself together," she muttered. She picked the quill up again and began the second line.

 _I apologise for not writing sooner. This is, for me at least, a difficult letter to write . . ._

Difficult. The word swelled and echoed and she realised she was tired of it. Coming to Hogwarts as a Muggle-born witch was difficult. Defeating Voldemort was difficult. Living without her best friends, coming back to Hogwarts as a teacher, learning to live in another world when you're still the same person – all of it was difficult.

Harry's death was difficult.

 _I heard you were injured in the Dragonscliff attack. How are your injuries now? Do they trouble you? Or have the healers been able to work their usual magic?_

 _I must shift this letter to more serious matters. It occurs to me that I have spent the last few years keeping secrets . . ._

She didn't tell her parents she was teaching at Hogwarts. Despite the prestige the position held in the magical world, she suspected her parents may not be impressed she gave up a high paying research job to become a teacher. She didn't intend to stay long anyway.

She didn't tell her students about her past. She suspected they already knew parts of it: she was the Muggle-born friend and assistant of the late, great Harry Potter. But there was no need to confirm their suspicions; no need to make it a matter of public record.

She didn't tell anyone about Snape . . .

 _Harry's death left most people in the wizarding world grasping for others. With no one else around, I found myself pulling towards Severus._

It wasn't true. Hermione didn't turn to Snape because there was no one else. She had friends from her university and research days, friends who lived in Hogsmeade who would have been happy to help her out. She turned to Snape because of their mutual understandings . . .

Severus understood that Harry was just another wizard, as fallible as any of them. (He'd spent a solid seven years cataloguing Harry's faults.) He knew Hermione didn't want to hear blind hero worship, that she'd prefer just to be held. She'd just prefer to forget she wasn't there when it counted.

 _I don't suppose it's a real relationship, not in the way Harry and Ginny's was, or even like the relationship you and I used to share. It's merely a matter of comfort and convenience and I believe that one day it will fade away every bit as quick as it started._

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt and wondered why she was lying to herself. But it was easy to dismiss the feeling – a serious relationship with Severus was more than she could be expected to handle.

 _I apologise for telling you in this manner. I couldn't work up the courage to let you know any other way. But I believe you should hear it from me, not some nosy gossip down at Hogsmeade._

 _The ink dried easily on the parchment, but as far as Hermione was concerned, her words had all the clarity of a confused House Elf. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to decide the best possible way to end the letter._

 _  
_With regards, Hermione_   
_

The parchment crumbled into a neat little ball lying in the palm of her hand. She gave it a final squeeze before throwing it across the room and into her rubbish bin.

Some things were better left unspoken.


	2. Beginning of Difficult Things

The school year had finally ended and despite her best intentions, Hermione felt relieved. She suspected many of her students – off to enjoy their holidays – felt exactly the same way. But, as their teacher, it was difficult to shed the feeling she should enjoy school more than they did.

She joined the other teachers walking from the Great Hall, accompanying them into the bustling courtyard. The normally peaceful stretch of grass and paths was hidden under a noisy mess of students and their luggage, and Hermione wondered (again) how any of the students managed to get themselves and their belongings home in one piece. Surely things hadn't been that disorganised when she was a student.

Despite the excitement over the ensuing holidays (or perhaps because of it), Hermione found herself surrounded by students, all anxious to say good bye to her before they boarded the Hogwarts Express.

"Have a good summer, Professor!" A freckled, first year Hufflepuff whose Transfiguration mark was rather higher than expected.

"Thank you for your tuteledge, Professor Granger." The solemn Ravenclaw who would soon be following in Hermione's footsteps at Oxford.

"Behave yourself, Professor." A cheeky, Gryffindor surrounded by giggling girls.

The noise reached a crescendo and then, without warning, disappeared, leaving only the Hogwarts staff, all dressed in their last day of school robes. Albus held his hand out to them and with his unspoken request, they moved closer.

"I would like to thank you for another successful year," he said, "I know it has been difficult, but you – all of you – have pulled the students together magnificently."

He wore a smile, but Hermione could hear the sadness in his voice. She wondered just how hard Harry's death had affected Albus.

Professor Sprout clapped her hands together. "Well, that's it then. I say it's time for a party, chaps."

Professor Flitwick cheered, and the teachers began wandering back to the castle. Hermione found herself at the back of the group walking alongside Severus. She was lost in her thoughts, wondering if he would join them at the party, and was surprised when Albus pulled both of them aside.

"I realise the two of you may be busy," Albus' eyes twinkled and Hermione wondered how much Severus had told him about their relationship, "but I wonder if you could accompany me to my office. A certain someone is waiting there. She hopes to beg a small favour of you."

"A small favour?" Severus was suspicious and Hermione found she was also wondering what the favour entailed. The last time Albus asked a small favour of her, she found herself teaching at Hogwarts.

"I'll leave it for her to explain," Albus smiled, "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Severus as they followed Albus to his office. Severus looked as curious as he was suspicious, and Hermione realised she was also interested in what awaited them.

"Butterscotch pudding," Albus announced at the entrance way to his office. He stepped up onto the revolving stairs, followed by Hermione and Severus. "I seem to have run out of sweets," Dumbledore noted. "I really should write to the companies about that."

A strange look crossed Severus' face and Hermione was too busy being amused by it to notice who was waiting for them in Albus' office. It wasn't until Severus nodded and said "Minerva" that Hermione realised the Minister for Magic was there.

"Minister," Hermione smiled at her old teacher. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Hermione. Please, call me Minerva. I've discovered the people who call me Minister generally want something."

"I believe you want something from us, Minerva?" Severus crossed his arms and stared at the Minister.

"How about we sit down first?" Minerva drew some comfortable chairs with her wand, sitting in her own and waiting for Severus and Hermione to do the same. "As you know," she began, "the Ministry has been holding investigations and inquiries into the death of Harry Potter."

Hermione bit her lip. She'd been trying to avoid the Daily Prophet and its reports, but the gossip in the staff room was unavoidable. Across from her, Severus scowled. "Of course," he said tightly.

Minerva ignored his tone. "We believe there is . . . more than we have uncovered. At first we thought it as just a raid gone wrong, aurors using sloppy work; but discoveries have been made." She sighed. "We have also run into a few solid brick walls. It seems many people are, well, reluctant to talk to our investigators. It's made it quite impossible to piece together the whole story."

"Imagine that," Severus shook his head, "people not wanting to talk to Ministry investigators. How the world has changed."

"I have missed your sarcasm, Severus," Minerva said.

"You're no slouch in that department yourself," he replied.

"Minerva," Hermione interrupted, before the bickering could work up a head of steam. "This is all very good to know, but why are you telling us about this? What is this favour you want?"

Silence drifted over the office, the Headmasters leaning forward in their portraits. Then Severus shifted slightly. "She wants us to investigate Potter's death." His voice was soft and dangerous as he looked from Hermione to Minerva, who was nodding slightly.

"That's correct," she said.

A swell of emotion moved rapidly through Hermione's body: fear, hope, anger, disgust. She found herself staring at the floor of Dumbledore's office, wondering why on earth she ever agreed to come back.

"Why do you want us?" Severus said. Hermione looked at him, grateful he had asked the question she had been unable to wrap her tongue around. "We're not exactly trained for this."

"That's actually one of the reasons why we want you. The people who are trained by us aren't exactly getting anywhere. We need to try new tactics." She sighed and began counting off her fingers. "The two of you are trained and experienced in research. You've worked together before, covertly. And rather than the tainted name of the Ministry behind you, the two of you carry the good name of Hogwarts."

"And," Dumbledore added, "you're the only two teachers who didn't submit holiday plans."

Severus glared. "We're being sent out on some . . . mission because we forgot to fill out paperwork?"

"Well if you feel that way you don't have to go." Minerva huffed. "I just thought it would put a lot of people at ease if we could put this matter to rest."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be detrimental to your popularity either," Severus said, leaning forward in his seat.

"No, nipping potential threats in the bud never hurt anyone's popularity," Minerva sighed. "Look at Harry Potter."

Severus dropped back in his seat. "I don't want this to tie up my summer. I have other plans and projects I wish to complete."

"Would you at least consider it?" Minerva held out her hands and Hermione was struck by how helpless the Minister looked. "Take it away with you, think about it, discuss it with each other. Please don't just dismiss it out of hand." She glanced at Albus then back at Hermione and Severus. "If you decide you'll do it, come and see me. Otherwise we'll just let it drop."

Hermione looked at Severus who nodded slightly. "We'll let you know, Minerva," he said.

"Thank you, Severus," Minerva turned to Hermione. "Are you fine with this?"

"Sure." Hermione wished she had said more, wished she could have made a bigger contribution to the meeting. It had never been her style to sit by and let someone else do the talking for her. But her head as still spinning and it was difficult to get her thoughts into any coherent fashion.

"Thank you." Minerva stood up. "I hope you'll help us."

"We'll try."

 

"I don't want to do this." Hermione balled her hands into fists, allowing her fingernails to dig into her palms. "I just don't see how we can do it. How I can do it."

Severus poured two glasses of Elderwine and brought them to the chairs in front of the fireplace. "I must admit I have my own reservations." He handed her one of the glasses and sat down. "I suspect your reasons are a little different to mine."

She twirled the glass between her fingers, her eyes focused on the strangely white liquid. "I don't want a confrontation with the past. This . . . investigation will have us poking into all kinds of dirty corners I haven't even thought about for ten years. I'm not ready for that."

Severus sighed. "I'm wondering what the Ministry managed to uncover, why they're so very interested. We already know about the prophecy, but that finished when the Dark . . . Voldemort died. What else is there about Harry Potter that has Minerva so worried?" He drank, emptying the glass. "We're going to be sticking our noses into places where people don't want them. And there's no guarantee we won't become the targets of whoever it is we're trying to stop."

Hermione felt a familiar pang of guilt, the one that struck whenever she thought about Harry. It would be easy to walk away from the investigation, Minerva had made that clear. But she was worried that walking away would make her feel worse than ever.

"We're going to do it, aren't we?" she said softly.

Severus closed his eyes and suddenly looked old. "Yes. Despite our extreme reluctance, I don't see that we have a choice."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," she stared into the cold fireplace, wishing there was a fire burning, someway to warm herself up.

"We're going to delve into the depths of the Potter family," Severus shook his head. It's going to be bad."

Minerva McGonagall was never the favoured choice as Minister of Magic. Despite her excellent credentials and her vital role in defeating Voldemort, the Ministry weren't inclined to accept the intrusion of a Hogwarts' teacher. However, heavy pressure from Dumbledore and other interested parties ensured that Minister McGonagall would became a reality.

She was in her office when they arrived, working her way through a list of troubles and responsibilities brought to her by a serene secretary. She looked up at Severus and Hermione with a smile, gesturing at them to sit down while she finished Ministry business.

"Send a memo to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, please. They need to get back to me on the preparations for the Quidditch international."

"Certainly Minister," the secretary turned neatly on her heel and walked out of the office, leaving the three of them alone. Hermione watched her go, marvelling at how nice it would be to have a secretary to handle all the menial jobs.

"So you've decided to do it," Minerva smiled, "thank you."

Severus shrugged. "It wasn't really a choice."

Hermione was determined not to sit by and let Severus do all the talking. She had awoken restless, after a night of tossing and turning. As she looked at the sunrise out her window, she made a promise: if she was going to investigate Harry's death, she was going to do it properly. She lifted her chin and looked at Minerva.

"What's our first step? Do you have a particular direction you wish us to take this investigation? Certain information you want us to pursue? What can you tell us to begin with?"

Minerva pulled a thick file of papers from her desk drawer and handed it to Hermione. It was filled with hastily written notes and typed memos from various aurors, as well as newspaper clippings and official looking documents. Hermione flipped through it quickly before handing it to Severus, wondering if they'd ever find useful information amongst the clutter.

"That folder just contains the information which has been classified as relevant," Minerva said. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I guess you'd prefer the brief version, though?"

"That would be preferential," Severus said.

"Indeed." Minerva folded her hands and sat back in her chair. "As you both know, many of Harry's powers were anticipated by Sybill Trelawney's first prediction. However, after Voldemort was killed Harry's powers continued to grow – beyond the things he learnt. No matter how hard we've . . . no matter how close we examine the prophecy, we can't determine how this occurred." She smiled at old memories, "we all know that Harry didn't work at anything except Quidditch or Defense Against the Dark Arts unless he really had to. Yet, the way he progressed, he was moving toward the same levels of power as Dumbledore himself." Her smile dissapeared and she looked down. "The problem is, Dumbledore's powers were aquired after many long years of study. We don't know why Harry was getting so powerful. And we don't know why he was killed."

Hermione leant forward. "Are you sure it was natural power? Couldn't it have just been a fortunate chain of events related to the prophecy? Or even Voldemort's demise?"

Minerva nodded, ignoring Severus' look. "Those possibilities were high on my list. But Dumbledore revisited the prophecy for me and he doesn't believe that Harry's mysterious developments followed it," she frowned. "So we began looking at Harry's family. There's always been a strange aura around the Potters. And of course, with both James and Harry as Voldemort's original targets, we wondered why he didn't intend to kill Lily – who was clearly working against him and was a Muggle-born."

Severus snorted. "Good taste?" he muttered under his breath.

Minerva glared at him."Voldemort used the Death Mark as a defining symbol. Good taste seems unlikely." She turned her gaze to Hermione, "unfortunately when we tried to get more information on the Potter family, doors began to slam in our faces. That's why we need the two of you."

"What do you want us to find out?" Hermione asked.

"Why was Harry Potter killed?" Minerva looked back to Severus, "and who killed him?"

"How," Severus' voice was dripping with venom, "do you expect us to be able to get this information?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Read some books. Go through the material I've given you. Mostly you need to talk to people. Old contacts, old friends, old shady characters who hide in dark caves. I particularly want you to talk to the people who were close to Harry and Ginny just before Harry's death. Remus Lupin. Nymphodora Tonks." She peered over her glasses at Hermione. "Ron Weasley."

"Fine," Hermione said, her voice stable.

"I would like you to talk to Ginny as well, but her baby's due any moment now," Minerva continued.

"Baby?" Severus narrowed his eyes. "Another Potter baby?"

"You didn't know?"

"No."

"Well at the moment the main concern of the Ministry is with Harry's children. They won't be able to stay in hiding their whole lives."

"Okay," Severus got to his feet, the thick file clutched in his hands. "We'll talk to some people and try to get your answers for you."

"The Ministry thanks you."

"What should we do first?" Hermione asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Severus picked up a bottle of port her parents had sent her for Christmas. "What?" he asked absently, examining the bottle's label.

"What are we going to do first? With the investigation?"

He put the unopened bottle down and looked down at her. "You intend to start this right away?"

She looked at him, the last remnants of energy leaving her. She had no idea why she kept returning to this man, why she found him attractive, why she stayed. "I want to get this over with."

He dropped his head. "We'll start tomorrow," he said, his voice low, "I'll head to Oxford for some research while you go visit an old friend."

"Which old friend?" she asked suspiciously.

"Ron Weasley," he replied, the grin on his face wider than it had any right to be.


	3. Easier to Fall Apart

Hermione woke early, her eyes adjusting slowly to the soft light filtering through her window. She rolled herself over onto her side, before realising she was alone, that the sheets on the opposite side of the bed were smooth. Her mind clicked into focus and she remembered how Severus had slipped out of the room before she'd had the chance to ask him to stay.

Her mind cleared further and she sat up, remembering the other problems she needed to deal with. Not only had she agreed to a potentially dangerous investigation into the death of her old best friend; she was starting it off with a friendly conversation with her ex boyfriend.

She groaned, inwardly swearing at Severus for making her take on such an unpleasant task. Realisticly she knew that Severus wouldn't be able to talk to Ron – the pair had barely shared a civil word in their lives – but he didn't have to be so gleeful about it.

She rolled from her bed and dressed in an old set of teaching robes, wondering why she didn't tell Severus off about his attitude, why she didn't feel comfortable enough with their relationship to be honest with him. She wondered if she'd ever feel comfortable with him: the time they spent together could sometimes be painfully awkward, despite the chemistry between them.

Hermione sighed throwing extra robes and random objects into her carry bag. She would talk to Ron and then she would meet Severus in Oxford. Maybe they would be able to get the investigation over swiftly, giving her the time to concentrate on her own life.

"Here we go," she muttered as she walked out of her room. "How bad can it be?"

When he was well enough to return to work, the Ministry of Magic granted Ron Weasley an office of his own, rather than the cubicle he had been working from. The official reason was lengthy and convoluted, something to do with additional desk duties and rewarding an auror who'd given his all in the fight against the Dark Arts. The unofficial reason (whispered behind hands and over the water cooler), was that the other aurors, still out in the field, preferred to keep their distance. Stories of unexpected rages and gloomy moods filtered through the department and there wasn't a soul who believed he was really over the death of Harry Potter.

Hermione adjusted the little badge pinned to the front of her robes (Hermione Granger: Pre-Arranged Interview,) and walked past the auror's cubicles down the corridor to Ron's office. She paused before knocking on his door, wondering how hard Minerva might have been hit on the head before sending them out on this investigation.

She knocked and the door opened easily, revealing a tiny, overcrowded office. Ron was sitting behind his desk in the middle of the room, spreading a pile of parchment across the desk. "What do you want?" he snapped, without looking up.

"I was hoping we'd be able to talk," she said.

Ron's head shot up and he stared at her. "Hermione?"

"Yeah," she sat on the chair in front of his desk. "Hi."

"Well," he crossed his arms and leant back in his chair. "Well, I can't say I expected to see you today. Or any day really."

"I'm sorry I didn't contact you first. The Minister arranged it for me. She said there was a bit of a rush."

"It's fine," he said, his voice tightening. "What do you want?"

She bit her bottom lip, trying to work out the best way to phrase it. "I need some information, Ron. I need to know about . . . well, what happened."

"What happened when?" Ron stared at her, his eyes narrowing as he realised what she was referring to. "You want to know about Harry's death, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Ron snorted, "You've got some bloody cheek, Hermione. You spend years ignoring Harry and me, wanting absolutely nothing to do with us. Then he dies, and you come running over here, with no warning at all, so you can bug me about his death. What use is it anyway? He'd dead! Gone!"

Hermione looked down at her hands. She contemplated lying to him, but there were at least three sneakascopes sitting against the walls and she knew thay'd catch him out. "McGonagall's asked me to look into it."

"She did. And then she sent you here, did she?"

"Yes."

Ron pushed his chair back from his desk and got to his feet. He began pacing the small amount of space available, walking, Hermione noticed, with a prominent limp.

"Did McGonagall tell you I don't remember anything?" Ron stopped and looked down at Hermione. "Did the Minister tell you about the mind block? The best Healers in Britain, the strongest vitaserum, the Ministry's tried everything. There's nothing – nothing – to help me remember what happened." He sat back in his chair and glared at her.

"Did you know they suspected me for a while? They thought I'd gone and done Harry in. Inspired by jealousy or something." He snorted. "It took them three weeks to test both our wands and realise that we'd been fighting two or three other people.

"Of course, by the time they'd gotten around to that, it was clearly too late. My name was mud as far as the other aurors were concerned. They reckon it'll be a couple of years until I'm allowed out in the field again."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly.

"You're sorry? Hermione, he was my best friend long after you abandoned the two of us. And he's dead now, and they thought I did it, and the best thing you can think of to say is 'sorry'?" Ron slammed his hands on the desk and glared at her.

"What do you want me to say. Ron?" Hermione shook her head, "I'm trying to figure out who killed him. I'm not the enemy this time, you don't have to fight me."

"I remember some things, insignificant things," he said, refusing to look at her, "the Ministry said it wasn't any help to them, but I can tell you what I remember if you'd like?"

"Yes, thank you."

"It was a bit unusual from the beginning. Harry and I didn't usually do routine raids like this one. We usually worked with a team on bigger projects. Harry was twitchier than usual too, he didn't have his normal coolness. And our wands were acting up a bit; they weren't as fast as they should have been." He shrugged, "and Lucius Malfoy."

"What?" Hermione felt her heart quicken as she leaned forward in her seat.

"I don't know why, or how, but Lucius Malfoy keeps coming to mind. He just won't go away." He shrugged, glancing at her briefly before looking away again.

"Ron," Hermione watched as he sat down, "was anyone, I mean, were there any threats made against Harry before you were sent out?"

"Dunno," Ron frowned, "Tonks might know, though. She was really close to Ginny before . . ."

"Thank you," she said.

He shrugged, "I'm sorry. That's everything I know."

"It's a good start. It will help." An uneasy silence fell over them and Hermione wondered if she should go. But one look at Ron's face told her there were other things he wanted to say.

"I screwed up, you know." He looked at her and she held his gaze, making no effort to disagree. "I made a total mess of things."

"What things?" Her voice was calm, surprising her.

"My family. Harry. You." He looked away. "We were supposed to be the perfect couple. Remember that, 'Mione?"

She squirmed at the familiar use of her name. "I remember."

"Harry and Ginny. You and me." He smiled. "I shouldn't have let you go like you did."

"Do you honestly think you could have stopped me?" she asked.

"I could have tried harder." He rubbed the side of his face.

"Why on earth do you do this to yourself?" she sighed. "It wouldn't have worked, you know."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I do. And so do you." Hermione stood and picked up her cloak. "Thank you for the information."

She was out the door before he could reply.

"Please tell me you've unraveled the entire mystery and we can go home now," Severus called to Hermione as she apparated into his house.

"Not exactly," she said as she hung up her cloak. She walked down the hall to the small study where hewas sitting at his desk, heavy books and tattered papers spread around. "Only a couple of new leads, actually."

"Wealsey's being uncooperative?"

"He can't remember anything. His memory's blocked." She picked up on of the books. "What have you found?"

"A lot of heavy books that might have a little information, a few parchments that might be useful if they were in a language I could read properly, and," he held out a white card, "the contact details of an old associate. He's got rooms in Knockturn Alley. He'll see us in a couple of days."

"Ron said that Tonks might have some better information." Hermione took a deep breath, "he also mentioned Lucius Malfoy; said he kept coming to mind."

"Lucius Malfoy was trying to gain power from the minute he took his first step. It's the first name that would spring to most minds."

"Most people think he's dead," Hermione reminded him. She shook her head, "I don't know. It feels a little weird. The only things Ron remembers was it was a strange raid, their wands faltered, and Lucius Malfoy."

"It's something we could look into. I don't think Lucius is dead, but I don't know why he'd come back to Britain." He sat, silent and thinking, then shook himself. "I'll be ready to go in an hour. There's some food in the kitchen if you want."

Severus bent over his books, engrossed. Hermione watched for almost a minute before turning and walking away.

Hermione's London flat was a gift from Harry, back in the days when they'd all been friends. She'd been coming down from Oxford almost every weekend and Harry grew tired of finding her asleep on his couch all the time.

The flat was overcrowded now, full of things she didn't like. But she was spending most of the year at Hogwarts, and her summers tended to be full of research rather than cleaning. She draped her cloak over the couch and watched as Severus poked around the flat.

"Well," she shrugged, "it's convenient."

Severus nodded and stalked down the short hallway until he found her study. Silently he took a fresh piece of parchment and a quill from her desk, before carefully unfurling a fragile, ancient parchment.

"Do you know Ibranite?" he asked Hermione, who was watching from the study doorway.

"Not really," she admitted, "just a few words, not much else."

"I believe this parchment is in Ibranite. As far as I can tell it mentions the Potter family. I think it might be what we're looking for. It's going to take me some time to translate though. The writing's unclear and there's words in here I've never seen before."

"Good," Hermione pushed her hair behind her shoulder and looked at the man sitting at her desk, wondering if she really knew him at all. She shook herself out of her reverie; Severus was just involved in the investigation, that was all. "Do you want to talk to Remus or Tonks tomorrow?"

Severus looked away from the parchment, eyebrows raised. "Do I have to talk to either of them?"

Hermione smothered a grin. "Unfortunately . . ."

"I'll take Lupin, then. I know enough of his dirty secrets to keep him quiet. There's no hope of keeping Nymphadora Tonks quiet."

She smiled, "I'll talk to Tonks."

"Fine," Severus turned, as if to return to the parchment, but his eye was caught by something at the window. "One of us has mail," he said, gesturing at the owl outside.

Hermione crossed the room and opened the window, taking the letter. As the owl flew away, she read the scrawled address on the envelope. "It's for me," she said, turning it over to open it.

Severus nodded and picked up the quill. Hermione took a plain letter opener from the compartment on her desk and broke through the seal, pulling out the letter and reading it quickly. A sudden sense of panic rose through her and she noticed her hands were trembling. "Severus," she said.

"Hmm . . ." he replied, without moving.

"I think you should read this." She held the letter out to him.

Severus took it from her and skimmed through it quickly. Then he held it closer to her desk lamp, as if the soft yellow light would reveal extra clues. "Who sent this?" he demanded.

Hermione groaned. "Its anonymous, Severus. Post Office owl and all. They're not going to stick their names on that sort of letter."

"It's a death threat, Hermione!"

"I'm well aware of that. And I was expecting it too. My visit to Ron, our visits with Minerva, you rummaging around Oxford – none of it would have gone unnoticed. I do think you're over reacting a little."

"Hermione," Severus' voice was low, but forceful, "these people want you dead. They want to send hexes and curses to hurt you and they want to kill you."

"People have wanted to kill me before. I know how to look after myself."

"Still," Severus frowned, "maybe we should go to Lupin and Tonks together, rather than separately."

"It'll take us a whole extra day if we do that," Hermione protested. "I thought you wanted this done quickly."

"I want us to live through this."

"We'll be fine." She looked at him, wondering why he was worrying so much. "Are you coming to bed?" The words felt foreign as she said them, and she was struck by the absurdity of assuming Severus Snape would come to bed with her.

"I want to work on this," he replied.

"I'll see you in the morning." She turned, leaving him bent over the parchment, hard at work.

Hermione pulled her cloak tight around her and shook herself irritably. She intended to make the day as short as possible, to get home early and go through the books Severus had put aside for her. But Tonks was out on a job when Hermione got to the Ministry and tracking her down had taken the better part of the day.

Tonks, Hermione thought as she stepped across the street, had been unable to provide any worthwhile information. Just tales of death threats and Harry's rising paranoia that had left Hermione so disturbed, she elected to walk home rather than risk splinching herself.

She turned around a corner, wondering if Severus had more success talking to Remus. Or maybe he had finally unraveled the strange parchment, made a successful translation and worked out the investigation.

Hermione was so wrapped up her thoughts she didn't notice the lack of people around her. Her shoes tapped across the footpath and she turned into a tiny alley which served as a short cut home. Suddenly the air stilled and Hermione stopped, wondering if a stray Dementor had made its way into London.

"Don't be stupid," she muttered, stepping forward again. As her foot connected with the ground, a thick, yellow fog descended around her, pushing against her as if it were solid and rendering her sightless. It was heavy and cloying, wrapping around her throat and lungs, choking her. Hermione reached for her wand, feeling shaken by the supposedly obsolete phenonemon. But before she could pull her wand from her inside pocket, a large hand clapped down on her shoulder and threw her the short distance into the wall.

Hermione winced as her body made contact with the wall and her knees faltered, threatening to crumple her to the ground. She could feel someone moving towards her, but as she moved to the side, there was another person who grabbed her arms and spun her around.

"I've got her," he growled, his voice thick with an European accent.

Hermione struggled and pulled, kicking the man holding her, in the shins. The man swore violently and the first man slapped her sharply across the face.

"Don't kick, little girl." The first man had an English accent, a voice that sounded terrifyingly familiar. She didn't have time to think about it though, as the foreign man threw her to the ground and kicked her savagely. She rolled out of the way of a second kick, but a third one, along with a muttered hex, caught her firmly in the ribs, leaving her gasping and curled up in pain.

The Englishman knelt beside her, his hands pressing her shoulders into the ground. Hermione tried desperately to see him through the fog, but all she could make out was a dim shape.

"You should have known better," the man hissed, "you shouldn't have gone looking. And you should have called it off when we told you to. But instead you had to play little Miss Investigator." He reached into his pocket and Hermione knew he was pulling out a wand. "Well, our Master doesn't want to be investigated." He stepped back and Hermione closed her eyes. Severus, she thought desperately, where is Severus?

The Englishman laughed, a deep menacing sound, and pressed the tip of his wand against her breast bone. There was a strange empty silence and the man spoke again.

"Avada Kad . . ."


	4. When You're Falling

"Avadra Kad . . ."

Hermione's eyes flew open and she stared at the green light coming from the wand in front of her. Time seemed to slow as the green light flickered and burned again, brighter and stronger than ever.

"No." Severus' voice sliced through the alley, echoing off the brick wall. The Englishman was pulled away from Hermione, thrown backwards into the opposite wall. The foreigner lunged toward her, but a hex shot out, catching him in the chest and forcing him to the ground. As suddenly as it had descended, the fog lifted and Hermione scrambled to pull her wand from her robes.

"Are you alright?" Severus was across the alley, putting the Englishman (a Slytherin, if Hermione recalled correctly, from the year below her) in a body bind.

"Just bruised," she ran a hand down her side, her fingers dwelling over a cut in her side, "and bleeding."

Severus shook the Englishman back into consciousness and propped him up against the wall. "Roderick Gottileb," he said, "looks like Dumbledore owes me a Galleon after all. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the dark side."

"Professor Snape." Gottileb spat at Severus, "the double crosser. Good to see you're still cavorting around saving Mudbloods."

"Shut up." Severus took a tiny phial of potion from his robes and brandished it in front of Gottileb. "You'll talk when I want you to talk."

Gottileb laughed. "You're going to drug me with some truth potion to get the information you want. Bloody typical. I always thought you were sneaky like that."

Severus wrapped a hand around Gottileb's neck and leant in close. "Well I could always just choke you until you give me the information I need. But I've never really been fond of brutal violence. I prefer the more . . . subtle approach." A taunting note entered his voice. "I've developed a potion, Roderick, which won't just get you to tell me the truth, but will also eat at your insides until you die a horrible and painful death." The hand around Gottileb's neck tightened. "I will learn the truth. Which method I choose to employ depends entirely on you and how quickly you want to tell me about your master."

"How do you know I have a master?" Gottileb's voice was tighter than before and Hermione noticed a flash of panic crossing his face. "How do you know I'm not the master myself? How do you know I'm not working on my own?"

Severus laughed. "You've never been intelligent enough to work on your own," he taunted. "You've always been a follower."

Gottileb glanced at the tiny phial Severus was still holding. "I never saw the guy's face. We were in Knockturn Alley, you know, and it was dark and he was wearing some kind of mask. He said that he'd give me a thousand galleons if I could manage to kill the Mudblood. He offered Porchenski, over there," he nodded at the unmoving figure down the alley, "the same deal."

Severus shook him, slamming his head into the wall. Hermione winced, but was unable to turn her head away. "What else did he say?" Severus demanded.

"He kept talking about Harry Potter. He was babbling, you know. Something about sons and house elves and Azkaban. I don't think he was all there in the head, if you know what I mean."

Severus nodded slowly. "Fine. Now drink this." He held the phial out.

Gottileb shook his head, his eyes wide with panic and fear. "You said you wouldn't. I told you the truth, you know. I don't know anything else than that, I promise. Please, Professor Snape."

Severus ignored his whimpering, holding Gottileb's head back and forcing his mouth open. "Pour the potion in," he ordered Hermione, pushing his knee into the man.

"But, didn't you say. . ? You know I can't do that Severus."

"Do it Professor Granger! Now!"

She hobbled across the alley and took the phial from between his fingers, uncapped it and poured the contents into Gottileb's mouth. He stopped struggling quickly and Severus allowed him to slump over the the ground, unconscious.

"It's a sleeping potion," he explained, his voice tight and angry. "Someone will find him later."

"Oh," she replied She realised that the whole encounter had left her shaking and a quick inspection of her side revealed that she was still bleeding. "I need to get something on this cut, Severus," she said, hoping to move away from the subject of the potion and the overwhelming fear that had swept over her.

He left Gottileb and came to her side. His fingers were quick to find her wound and he used light from his wand to examine it. "It's quite bad. Do you want to go to St. Mungos?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing," she said. "I've got everything I need to deal with it back at home." At least the second part was true.

He held an arm out for her to lean on and began to walk her towards her flat. It wasn't until they'd taken a few steps that she realised he was also walking with difficulty. "You're hurt!" she exclaimed, looking back at the bodies in the alley way. "When did that . . ."

"Lupin and I were attacked while talking over a quiet beer," he explained. "We weren't ready for it and my reactions weren't as quick as I would have liked." He frowned. "I thought that someone might have been making good on those death threats. That's why I came out looking for you."

"So how much danger are we in right now?" Hermione looked over her shoulder. "Do you think we need to abandon the investigation?"

"I think we'll be safe for a while." Severus grimaced. He stopped at the edge of the path and waited for a car to pass before steering her across the road. "I've killed five of the assassins sent out today and rendered another two scared and unconscious. I think that whoever is in charge will be more cautious before sending people out to kill me. You might want to polish up your old defense skills though."

She nodded. "So who do you think is in charge of it all, then?"

He glanced around. "Wait until we get inside. Then I'll tell you what I think I know."

Hermione's flat seemed more artificial and overly bright than usual. She allowed Severus to examine the cut on her side, ("it's not as deep as it could be") before he covered it with a thin bandage. She drank half a cup of healing potion without protest, although she detested the way it made her feel sleepy and stupid when she wanted all her wits about her.

"His master?" she asked. "Who do you think is in charge of all this? Who wants me dead?"

"Lucius Malfoy." Severus sat down on the overstuffed armchair that had been Harry's favourite and rubbed his eyes. "I knew that his various visits to Azkaban had driven him quite mad, but I think we've all underestimated the extent of his madness."

"So what does it mean?" Hermione stood up, moving slowly towards the small bookcase that sat in the corner of her sitting room. She pulled out a heavy book and stood up again. "Does that mean Lucius Malfoy killed Harry? Have we solved our big mystery?"

"Not necessarily." Severus stood and limped towards the study. Hermione followed close behind him, the book still resting in her hands.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything we know is either gossip or rumours." He sat down at her desk and pulled the mysterious parchment he'd been trying to solve the night before towards him. "What have you got there?" he asked, pointing at her book.

"It's a book on Ibronite. I just remembered it before. I think I picked it up in the back of a second hand bookstore somewhere."

He nodded. "Hopefully it will help me put the last piece of the parchment together. Once we have that we might know more."

"How can you just dismiss Lucius Malfoy like that?" Hermione demanded. "Didn't you just tell me that he was mad?"

"He's mad enough to want to kill you and me. It doesn't mean that he's mad enough to kill Harry Potter."

"Ron isn't a gossip. He was sure Malfoy was involved in it all somewhere."

Severus glared at her. "How many times did Weasley accuse me of wanting to hurt Potter when the three of you were students? Anyway, I can't see Malfoy or any of his flunkies killing Potter and not making a fuss about it. They would want everyone to know exactly what they did. They would want the magical population to fear them."

She hugged to book to her chest. "What are you trying to say?"

"I think the death of Harry Potter was suspicious. But the only people we know who were actually there was Potter and Weasley. Weasley's been cleared of all charges, so I think we would be remiss if we didn't turn some of our suspicions towards Potter."

"What?"

Severus shrugged. "Maybe the raid wasn't as simple or innocent as we'd like to believe."

Hermione slammed the book down on the desk and resisted the temptation to pick it up again and throw it at him. "Harry was a good guy, remember!"

"Are you sure?" Severus closed his eyes. "You had little contact with him in the last years of his life. You have no idea of what he might have been involved in."

"He defeated Voldemort! How can you just dismiss something like that?"

"He had more power than a young wizard knows how to handle, Hermione. He'd used it in foolish and ambiguous ways before. How are we to know he didn't move over to a side a little less savoury than our own?"

"I was his friend."

"Yes, I know." He stared at some point over her shoulder. "How could I forget that?"

"What on earth are you trying to say to me now?" Hermione pushed her chair away from the desk.

"It's not important."

"When are you going to stop hiding things from me, Severus?" She jumped to her feet and winced. The healing potion must have been weaker than usual because it was doing nothing to help her pain. "You're always keeping secrets, always hiding parts of yourself. When are you going to tell me something true?"

"When did we begin having a relationship where we didn't have secrets?" Severus also stood, resting his weight over on his stronger leg. "Most of the time you can't even admit we're having a relationship, but you still want to know all my secrets. What are you doing with me, Hermione?"

She crossed her arms. "I'm not sure anymore."

He sneered. "It's an easy question, Professor Granger. I just want to know if you're sleeping with me because no one else will, or because the sex is good?"

"How dare you!" Hermione clutched her robes tightly, preventing herself from reaching out and slapping him. "How dare you . . . how dare you reduce my emotions and feelings to dust like that."

"What am I supposed to think, Hermione? Tell me." He sighed and sank back into his chair. "You're so wrapped up in your own past that I don't know what to think. I never know . . . when we sleep together, I never know if you're having sex with me, or the ghost of Ron Weasley or Harry Potter. You're so wrapped up in your past that you can't see the bigger picture."

"I'm beginning to see the bigger picture now," Hermione said, her voice dripping with ice. "I'm seeing a greasy-haired git who always hated Harry, who would do anything to tag him as the bad guy because Harry's father was mean to you once." She shook her head, "I don't know what I was thinking when I slept with you. Maybe I was insane."

"Must be in the water at Hogwarts, then."

"I'm going to bed." Hermione felt the tears rising in her eyes and just wanted to get away from him. "We'll get this ridiculous investigation out of the way and just forget that any of this ever happened."

"Fine."

She stumbled out the the room, trying to ignore the pain that was steadily consuming her body. When she reached her bedroom she slammed the bedroom door behind her, and slid to the comfort of the floor, unable to keep the tears from falling.


	5. Another Time

Once she managed to pull herself to bed, Hermione slept badly. Her body, battered by the thugs earlier in the evening, was refusing to respond to the healing potion Severus had left out for her. The cut in her side was beginning to itch as well as ache; and it didn't take long to realise the ache had spread beyond her side. Hermione fidgeted in the bed – she was beginning to feel like one big bruise. She had, she concluded, been hurt quite a bit.

When she managed to drift off to sleep, her mind was invaded by a series of horrid nightmares. One moment she was running down a corridor with flickering lights and no perceivable end. The next moment she was stuck in a dark, cramped room where the walls seemed to be coming in on her and she was never quite sure if she was alone. Then she was being interrogated, tied down and tortured by a group of evil wizards with mocking laughter. She woke up sweating; they were the same dreams, she realised, she'd had in the months after leaving Hogwarts.

As she lay awake – in too much pain (and too disturbed by the nightmares) to sleep – the argument with Snape replayed through her head. Had she really called him a git? Had he really accused her of sleeping with him because she couldn't do better? Was he wrong? (Of course he was wrong, he'd have to be.) Was he right?

There was, as far as Hermione could see, no way the pair of them would be able to overlook the argument, no way they would be able to put aside the harsh words they'd thrown at each other, to resume the relationship that had begun to mean something to her.

"Good work, Hermione," she mumbled to herself.

Just before dawn her thoughts and nightmares got the better of her, and she realised any attempt at sleep would be futile. There was a large pile of books waiting for her attention in the study; she had stored them there during the Christmas holidays, anticipating a long summer of study and writing. There were, she had thought with maybe a little too much optimism, at least five publishable papers among the information she had collected.

No time like now to get started, she thought as she rolled over out of bed and stood up. She'd already lost a week to this ridiculous investigation – and all she had to show for it were injuries and a broken relationship. It was time to return to the things she trusted.

She left the bedroom with some trepidation, afraid Severus would be awake and waiting for her, ready to resume the fight she'd walked out on. It was difficult not to sigh with relief when she found him lying awkwardly on the couch in her sitting room; his eyes shut and his breathing deep and regular. She tiptoed past him, heading for the kitchen. If she was lucky she might even be able to make herself a cup of tea without waking him.

"Good morning, Professor Granger." His voice pierced the air, laden with the vitriol he usually reserved for his most detested students.

She turned back to look at him. "Good morning, Professor Snape."

He was propped up on the couch, his face contorted into one of his most fearsome glares. He wasn't over the fight either, she realised.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

She ignored him, walking into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. The sun was beginning to shimmer outside, making the dingy buildings look much more appealing. The kettle whistled and she made herself a steaming cup of tea.

"I shall be spending the day in my study," she announced. "I have some work I wish to complete today. I refuse to allow this madness to take over my entire life. We can return to the investigation tomorrow."

Severus nodded. "Fine."

She took the tea to her study, refusing to look back at him as she closed the door.

It was remarkably easy to fall back into the routine of study. Hermione had a large pile of archaic texts she wanted to go through, papers and parchments that had been discovered in some long forgotten corner of the British Museum. She hoped to find some information on ancient transfiguration methods within them, some snippet of information that, when published, would help her really make her name.

She didn't think of Harry or Ron or the investigation.

She didn't think of Severus.

"Come for a walk with me," Severus said from the doorway. He sounded tired, exhausted even, and she wondered if she sounded just as weary. She checked the tiny clock hanging above her desk, surprised to see it was already late afternoon.

"I really can't," she said. "I'd like to get this finished. I think I'm close to cracking it, I'm almost there."

"Leave it." His voice was harsh and Hermione found herself pulling away from him. He shook his head, irritated, and held his hand out to her, his voice softer. "Please?"

"Isn't your leg hurting? How can you walk on that? And my ribs are definitely bruised. I can't see how we can manage it." Hermione picked up her pen and looked at her translation. There was, she noted, a mistake in the last sentence.

"My leg is fine. And you can have some more healing potion if you wish. There's some in what you laughingly call a kitchen."

"I'll be alright. You know I hate that stuff."

"Come for a walk."

"Fine."

It was dark by the time they made it outside and there was quite a chill in the air. Hermione pulled her light wrap closer around her, wishing once again that she'd bothered to buy heavier muggle clothing.

Severus breathed deeply and she looked at him. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for the things I said last night," he said.

"You know you were right," she said, "about some of the things, anyway."

"Possibly."

She lifted up her chin to watch his face, feeling like an anxious, young witch. She watched him shudder slightly and wandered what he was thinking.

"I used to be harder," he muttered.

"I know."

He veered them away from the noisy, crowded pathway, through a tunnel of closely growing trees. The silence was beginning to grow painful and, for one fleeting moment, Hermione wanted to reach for his hand. But that wasn't the way they acted. They weren't that kind of people.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "We're trying to figure out who killed Harry and why."

"Should we go home and work on that?"

She turned around, joining him as they walked back towards the pathway and the people. "I think that would be a good idea."

Severus joined Hermione in the study to contemplate the information they had collated. They spread it out across her work table and Hermione realised they really didn't know much at all. Everything they had was sketchy, based on poor information or just plain rumours.

"It's a real pity that nothing came of that manuscript you were translating." Hermione sighed, "I suppose we'll have to wait until we talk to your friend tomorrow."

Severus snorted. "Xenios Arden is not my friend. He's an informant. He's a mad, alcoholic historian, an expert on all sorts of arcane wizarding knowledge."

"And you think he'll be able to help us?"

"If he can't then I doubt anyone will be able to."

Hermione stretched out, letting her arms drop across the table. Severus reached forward, absently running a finger down her arm. "I still think Lucius Malfoy must be involved," she said, laying her head between her arms.

"I can't see Lucius behind this." Severus leant back in his chair. "It hasn't got the Malfoy style."

"You're thinking of the Lucius Malfoy you remember when you were younger. You're forgetting that he's changed, that he's lost his only son and spent a good amount of time in Azkaban. Everything he valued was taken from him . . ."

". . . and by all accounts, he's quite insane." Severus finished. "I understand that. I just think there's more to this. It can't be that simple."

"Since when was anything about Harry Potter simple?" Hermione said. "There are days when I think it would have been an awful lot easier if I'd never met him at all."

He woke her early, shaking her shoulder when she tried to retreat further under the covers. She yawned and sat up, surprised to see him already dressed.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Severus pulled the covers from her and handed her a set of robes. "It's six in the morning. We'll need to leave soon. I want to get to Xenios' place before he starts drinking. There's nothing worse than dealing with a drunk historian."

Hermione stood up, taking the robes from Severus. "I suppose the earlier we get on with this, the quicker we get it over and done with."

Severus sat on the edge of her bed. "Why is this such a great inconvenience for you? I understand my own reluctance to investigate the Potter family, but I don't really understand yours."

Hermione picked up a hair brush from her dresser and began pulling it through her hair. "I suppose," she began, "I feel guilty. I shouldn't have allowed myself to lose contact with Harry and Ginny like I did. I shouldn't have become so involved in the theoretical that I forgot about the practical things. Maybe, if I had been closer I would have been able to help. Maybe, then, Harry wouldn't have died."

"And maybe he still would have died and you would feel guilty because you didn't do enough."

Hermione nodded, turning back to look at him. "I worry this investigation will lead to bigger problems and greater commitments. I'm not sure if I'm ready for that. I'm quite happy with my life just the way it is."

"That's a rather selfish way to think of things," Severus said, standing up.

"I fear I've become a rather selfish person."

Xenios Arden lived in Knockturn Alley, his rooms situated above a dirty (and quite possibly illegal) artifacts store. Hermione had visited Knockturn Alley once or twice before, but the place had always made her feel uncomfortable, like there was danger lurking in every corner. She really wasn't looking forward to making a return visit.

They apparated to Diagon Alley, arriving as a few of the shops began to open. One or two of the shop keepers looked curiously at Severus and Hermione, but Severus moved swiftly, navigating them to the tiny pathway that led to Knockturn Alley.

Unlike Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley was full of people. A group of scantily clad prostitutes teetered down the street, their bags jangling. A drunk stumbled over a loose stone and fell forward, catching himself in a doorway, before sliding down to the stones and falling asleep. A group of wizards in dirty robes leered and grabbed at Hermione as she passed, only letting go as Severus drew out his wand.

Xenios was waiting for them at the entrance to his rooms. He stood up unnaturally straight, his body draped in worn grey robes. His white hair stood up straight in the front and fell in waves down the back, brushing against his dirty shirt collar. His eyes were rimmed in red and his smile was crooked. All in all, he was possibly one of the strangest creatures Hermione had ever seen.

"Xenios." Severus said.

Xenios' smile grew larger and more terrifying. "Severus Snape."

"You're not drinking yet?" Severus asked.

"Silly boy, Severus." He laughed. "You know I never drink before eight in the morning." he turned to Hermione. "It's a rule."

Hermione allowed herself to smile a little as she held out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Xenios took her hand and brought it to his lips. "So you are, so you are," he muttered. "You should put something on those ribs, girl," he glared at Severus, "you would think this one would know enough to do that."

"You know why we are here, don't you Xenios?"

"Of course, of course." Xenios giggled, a high pitched, girlish noise that startled and surprised Hermione. "You want to know why Harry Potter died."

"Yes, we do," Hermione leaned forward. "You can tell us that, can't you?"

"I wouldn't be too concerned with Harry Potter." Xenios shook his head. "No, not at all. It's his children I'd be worried about."

"His son," Hermione corrected. "Harry only had one child."

"You're talking about the unborn child, as well." Severus said, looking at Xenios.

Xenios nodded. "Harry Potter's dead, they can't hurt him anymore. It's the children they'll want to hurt now."

"But why?" Hermione said "I mean, they're innocent, aren't they?"

"They have the power!" Xenios' eyes shone with glee. "But they don't have the protection. I'd worry about them. They're in terrible danger."

Severus put a hand over Hermione's. "Xenios," he said, "why are the Potters in such terrible danger?"

"It's the power!" Xenios reached forward and grabbed Hermione's shoulder. "If you kill a Potter, then you get their power!"

"Xenios!" Severus pulled him away from Hermione. "Calm down immediately. You must know more about this. Tell me what you know!"

Xenios pulled his wand from his robes and circled the room, picking books out at random from the book shelves, sending them across the room to the tiny desk in the corner. "It was Harry Potter's great grandfather's fault, you know." Xenios paused. "Or was it his great, great grandfather? Doesn't matter," Xenios picked out one last book and flounced across the room to the desk. "Whoever it was, he had to go off galavanting around Siberia when he was just a lad. He should have known he'd run into something rotten up there. You can't exist in that kind of climate without resorting to some powerful magics. And we know the Potters just can't leave well enough alone." He chuckled. "Apparently he thought some girl was in danger. Potter went and got himself extra power to deal with it – sold his soul from what I hear. It was all a ruse, of course. No one was in danger at all."

"The Potter family took on some sort of magic from Siberia?" Severus folded his arms across his chest. "That seems a little unlikely, don't you think?"

Xenios opened a heavy book. "You know I can't change history, Severus. And you've heard all the rumours about the Potter family. You know this explains it."

"So the Potter family are in danger." Hermione stood up. "The Potters have some strange power, other people want it, and that's why Harry was killed. So we've solved our investigation. It's over."

"Not quite." Severus looked straight at Xenios, his eyes steady and unwavering. "This information isn't on the public record. Whoever killed Harry must have hunted it down. Xenios has had a visitor before us, haven't you?"

Xenios smiled. "I help anyone who comes to me."

"Like Lucius Malfoy?"

"Blond man, slightly insane," Xenios nodded. "He came to me earlier this year. Wanted to know all about the Potter family."

"And you helped him!" Hermione cried.

"I help anyone who comes to me." Xenios turned back to his desk. "You can leave now."

"But . . ."

Severus placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's go home."

The minute they returned to Hermione's place, Severus went to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. She sat in the sitting room, her limbs feeling heavy and numb. She felt like a weight had dropped on her from a great height.

"It could have been worse," Severus brought the cup out to her.

She nodded. "I know."

He took a folded piece of paper from the folds of his robes. Dumbledore sent this to me yesterday. It makes a great deal more sense now."

Hermione took it from him. "What is it?" she asked, unable to decipher the handwriting.

"Another one of Trelawny's predictions." Severus shrugged. "It confirms it. The Potter children will need some protection."

"Is it time to see the Minister."

"Severus nodded. "I think so."

"So, it seems that Harry was killed in order to gain this great power." Severus leaned forward and placed the folded parchment in front of McGonagall. "Albus sent this to me yesterday. Another one of Trelawney's predictions."

McGonagall read through it quickly, her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed. When she reached the end, she folded the parchment over again. "And you believe it was Lucius Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded. "It seems that was the case. We don't know all the details – without Lucius himself, I don't think we'll ever really know it all. But we know he's still alive and we know he sought and received secret information on the Potter family."

McGonagall took her glasses off and lay them on the table. "We thought as much. We'd hoped to be wrong, but . . ." She sighed. "Why do you think Malfoy hasn't made his success public?"

"I've been thinking about that," Hermione said. "I can only conclude that Harry's power wasn't enough, or Lucius Malfoy didn't perform the act properly and it wasn't a complete success . . ."

"Or the whole thing didn't work at all," Severus added. "It's just another thing we don't know."

"So we'll need to upgrade the protection on the Potter children." McGonagall concluded. "We'll keep them in the safe house until we've created strong enough wards. We'll have to look for something more when they're old enough to go to Hogwarts."

"Minister," Hermione moved forward to the edge of her seat. "I'd like to offer my services there. I think it's my responsibility to help out Harry's children when they come to Hogwarts."

McGonagall looked at her sceptically. "Are you sure about this Hermione? It's possibly seventeen or eighteen years at Hogwarts. I know that wasn't part of your future plans – Albus said you were looking to move on."

Hermione nodded. "I'm sure. I wasn't there when Harry and Ginny needed me. I think it's my responsibilty to be there for their children." She lowered her voice. "Even if it means shelving some of my plans."

"Very well," McGonagall said. "I'm sure Albus will be pleased to have you stay."

"Well," Severus said, standing up. "I guess this brings our little investigation to a close."

"I suppose it does." McGonagall agreed. "Thank you, both of you."

Severus turned and walked out of the Minister's office. By the time Hermione had made her goodbyes and followed him out to the foyer, he had gone.


	6. Easier Like That

**_Two Months Later_ **

 

 _Dear Mum and Dad, Thank you for having me to stay last week. As usual, it was wonderful to see you._

 _I think I forgot to tell you about my new job . . ._

Hermione screwed the letter up and tossed it to the other side of the parlour. She shouldn't tell her parents about her job in a letter. That wasn't the way to do it. She'd have to see them, tell them in person. Maybe at Christmas . . .

She took another sip of her drink and checked the bags under her table. It had taken her long enough to buy everything she needed; she didn't want some Leaky Cauldron patron to come and take them.

"I was told I'd find you here."

Hermione looked up. "Minerva," she said, as she saw the Minister in the doorway. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to get some thoughts down on paper."

The Minister brought her own drink over to the table. "Did you manage to get your research completed?"

Hermione nodded. "There should be at least two articles published before Christmas. I'm just polishing the others."

"Ginny had her baby. A little girl." The Minister smiled. "She's quite beautiful."

"Oh," Hermione lowered her eyes to the blank parchment in front of her. "That's wonderful."

The Minister looked at her curiously. "Have you heard from Severus?"

Hermione grimaced. "Um, no. I'm not even sure if we're on speaking terms at the moment."

"He'll be back, you know."

"How do you know that?"

McGonagall smiled. "I've known the man since he was eleven years old. He'll go away and think things through, but he'll be back."

"You make him sound like any other guy."

McGonagall finished her drink. "Whatever made you think he wasn't?"

She was looking in the Diagon Alley windows when she saw him coming towards her. She bit on her lip and watched him, wondering why he was still limping, what new injuries he'd gone and gotten. He looked older than she remembered. Older, and more worn and liable to fall down in an exhausted heap at any moment.

The last thing she wanted to do was welcome him.

"You look tired," she said.

"I am tired." She looked at him and realised that any illusions she might have had were broken. He wasn't her savious, he wasn't there to make her life better. He wasn't there to pamper her, or to care for her or to make her feel good about herself. He was, she realised, just a man. And from time to time she hated him.

"Why did we do it?" she said. She wanted a clarification, a justification for the anger and pain that still plagued her and kept her from sleeping.

He bent his head forward. "Because we were asked."

"I don't love you," she said. It was easier if she was blunt about it.

"The sentiment is returned." He frowned as if there was something else he wanted to say.

"What?" She was impatient, frustrated.

Severus shook his head. "Enjoy the last days of your holiday, Professor. I'll see you back at Hogwarts."

He disapperated before she had the chance to respond, leaving her with a strange empty feeling. For a moment she wondered where he had gone, which hideout he had fled to. Then she decided it was easier not to think.

It was easier to stand, to watch. It was easier to allow Diagon Alley to consume her, for witches and wizerds to walk around her, to walk over the spot where Severus had been standing.

It was just easier like that.


End file.
